Botox IS for Vaginas. And Other Thoughts.

Okay so let’s just start with the elephant in the room. Remember that time I said Botox and vaginas do NOT go together? Well, apparently I was wrong. I heard Robin telling Howard Stern about it and of course, knowing Howard, I thought it was a joke. Except that they weren’t laughing. So I googled it and guess what? Botox is sometimes used to treat vaginal pain – aka vaginismus – experienced during sex. I stand corrected. And now you’ve learned something new, so, you’re welcome.

While we’re on the Google train, I also found this BBC article. There’s a political action group, called Amish Pac, whose intention is to get Amish voters to vote for Trump. AMISH voters. Typically, the Amish don’t vote, but they can. Like I said in a previous post, they don’t watch television or use internet, so think about that for a moment. Go ahead, I’ll wait. What exactly DO they know about Donald Trump? I cry foul. If this was football, there’d definitely be a flag on that play. Hmmm…. interference?

Meanwhile, back in my personal life, Opac is rapidly approaching a milestone birthday. I heard that stupid Phil Collins’ You’ll Be In My Heart – that I have always connected to my baby boy since the night we watched the animated Tarzan, his big brown eyes mesmerized by the screen. And the tears started falling and I couldn’t stop them. In all my life, I never knew how important motherhood would be to me, until this creature came into it. I had never loved anyone or anything so powerfully, so completely, never been so afraid of losing. It still takes my breath away.

Veruca, who is eleven years old, was recently propositioned by an 8th grade boy on the school bus who asked her if she wanted to see his penis. Except that he didn’t say “penis,” and because I’m a lady I’m not repeating the word. He also asked her if she knew what a boner was, which of course she didn’t because how could she? And because she admitted she didn’t know, he proceeded to explain it with hand gestures. I marched right in to school the next day and asked to speak to the principal. As of today, it’s been addressed with the perpetrator; however, I don’t believe the impact was sharp enough. More on that later. Maybe.

Thanks to more unforeseen staff shortages, I put in 19 hours at the restaurant over two days, including a double. We catered a party in-house for 85 people – twenty-five of whom were children who all but swung from the rafters during the event. These children embraced what Todd calls the Montessori Method with every ounce of their spoon-bending, chair-breaking hearts. But hey – that’s what checkbooks are for, right?

I ran out into a darkened courtyard around midnight Saturday, and collided with a patio chair so hard I was sure I’d severed my leg right off above the knee. Seriously, the thought that I’d done something significant to myself flashed through my mind, until I realized that I could still walk. I waited for the rush of blood not unlike the wound I got on my head 5 years ago from a similar, could-have-been-avoided-were-I-not-a-total-clutz, accident. But it never came. Today I’m sporting a beautiful grapefruit-sized, avocado-colored bruise on my right knee. It doesn’t particularly like the pressure of fabric against it, or – walking, for that matter.

So there goes my running habit for a couple days. Yes, I returned to it last week and I was feeling pretty good until the second mile when my knees started that dull stabby creaking/watery thing again. It’s hard to not think about my grandmother, who had arthritis and a double-knee replacement, and wonder if I’m headed the same way. I’ve already got signs of arthritis in my hands, and one increasingly crooked hateful pinky finger.

I swear middle-age is like one long insult after another. The body betrays you in ways you never thought about. It absolutely sucks that it takes a full 15 minutes out of bed before you can walk upright and without some sharp stabbing pain somewhere. Pain is not supposed to be a way of life. Not now.

I had a filling replaced last week that popped out with some stolen Skittles, and it took me nearly 4 days to recover from it. The dentist asked me if I wanted to be numb before he started, so I asked him if he’s doing any drilling. He said yes so I said, then the answer is yes. Lucky me got two for the price of one – I was also due for a cleaning so Dr. Pain gave me the Novocaine before that and then afterward fixed the filling. I don’t recommend this. It took effect so fast I was soon slurring my words and couldn’t rinse without spurting water out the side of my mouth like a fountain, which was so enormously funny to me that I started laughing and then all the water shot out. By the time I got to the main event I was worried the Novocaine might wear off before he finished the filling. Which I swear to God it did, even though I still couldn’t have talked my way through a DUI checkpoint at that point.

I have to go back, since the filling is too damn high and I’m hitting it when I eat and it hurts. Dammit. And then I woke up this morning from a dream about a tooth falling completely out, and all of my bonding falling off the other teeth along with it. I woke up with the intense anxiety I was feeling in the dream, and had to make sure everything was still intact.

There’s more, but I’ll save for the next post.

 **Disclaimer: I don’t use the upgraded service; therefore, you will see ads at the bottom of my posts (ads I don’t see because I’m not you). As it has come to my attention that certain ads may not align with my world views – I am compelled to add the following statement until further notice.

I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT SUPPORT DONALD TRUMP. NOT YESTERDAY, NOT TODAY, NOT – EVER.

 

 

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What Happens In Vegas

I had no plans to watch the last presidential debacle debate. But then I decided to fix myself a martini or four and see what happened. I made myself a list of keywords to drink to: short list, rigged, lie, crooked, locker room talk, unfit to be president, wikileaks, emails, comprehensive immigration reform, “unfair attacks” from the other, respect for women.

Here follows the notes I jotted down, in progress.

Hello, Chris Wallace!

And, here come the candidates.

Opac: Look! It’s black versus white!

And, we’re off!

Holy run-on sentence, Chris! I’m already confused.

Donald adjusts his mic. Here comes the head tilt. Squint.

His hair looks a little flat tonight.

DT: The Supreme Court is what it’s all about. What it’s all about?

Squint, squint. The lights must be really bright there.

Did they sedate him?

Comprehensive background checks for guns. Can I drink on this?

DT says Hilz was very very extremely upset.

Whoa! She admits she was.

2nd amendment, 2nd amendment, 2nd amendment….

Oooh, another hotbed issue. Overturn R v Wade?

Chris, ask him again.

Donald doesn’t answer the question.

Oh no, he went there. Oh dear.

Rip the baby out of the womb. Rip. The. Baby. Out. Of. The. Womb.

Holy shit, here’s the old white guy telling women what to do with their bodies. Hillz is gonna annihilate him.

They’re mincing words.

Walls and borders… Time to drink!

More scare tactics. There are mothers in the audience whose children were murdered by people who came here illegally? Did I hear that right?

Long sniff….Drink!

Wall times 3. I can’t drink fast enough!

Sniff.

“We have some bad hombres here.” Bad hombres? Bwahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!!

Annnnnndddd, comprehensive immigration plan.  Drink!

And, again! Drink!

He just said the Mexican president is “a very nice man.”

“Hillary Clinton wanted the wall.”

She’s smiling like the Joker.

One martini down. Be right back…

Donald: Under Obama, millions have been deported.

Millions and millions. Millions and millions?

Donald: We’re gonna speed up the process bigly.

BIGly?  Drink!

Now all three of them are talking at once. My head’s going to explode.

Martini #2. I’m behind on my keywords by 6.

Donald: She wants 550% more people.

Radical Islamic Terrorism. “Hillz and Obama won’t talk about this.”

Putin has “no respect” for her, or our president. Perfect, now we’re talking about Putin.

Hillz: Putin wants a puppet.

Donald: Oh you’re the puppet. YOU’RE the puppet!

Hillz is rubbing her upper lip. I’ll drink to the puppet.

Donald: Putin has outsmarted her at every step of the way.

And … the fire is lit. He’s gonna blow!

Hillz: Here’s a person who’s been very cavalier regarding nuclear weapons.

Donald: Wrong!

I’d like to add “wrong” to the list.

Drink!

We’re spending a fortune on defending other countries. 1 point for making sense.

Something, something.

Donald: This is just another lie. Lie.

Drink!

Trickle-down economics. Late add-in! Drink!

Donald: Her tax plan is a disaster. Disaster. Drink!

9:39 p.m.  Opac tags out. Veruca is asleep.

Chris, you’re losing control of your kids. Shut them down!

Hillz has no lips. They’re like slash marks.

But that pant suit…crisp and clean. I bet a million dollars she didn’t eat in that thing.

Can they put valium in an insulin pump? That way Trump’s team can remotely bolus him periodically.

Bathroom break. Martini’s getting low.

Back. DT is calling out Bill’s mistakes.

Donald: She totally lied. Lied. Drink!

What the hell just happened? I left for 4 minutes and now the kids are slinging mud at each other on the playground.

Oh no, Chris, you didn’t. You brought it up.

“Debunked.”  New keyword! Drink!

The women coming forward are either looking for fame or hired by HER.

Hillz calls him out for attacking the women who came out, as not attractive enough.

“WRONG.” I’d like to buy an “O.”

Wrong! Drink!

More mud slinging.

SHE’S lied hundreds of times.

4-Star general going to jail.

“Crooked.”  Drink!

OMG, are we really rehashing old bad behavior? Just under an hour and- Chris! Get those kids out of the sandbox! They’re throwing sand.

10 p.m. Todd just called. I’m being an appropriate wife. Did I DVR this for him? Of course I did.

I’m losing focus.

Can’t hear a word they’re saying, but Hillz looks like the cat that swallowed the canary.

“She should never have been allowed to run.” Hello, Pot – kettle’s calling.

Will he concede the election if she wins? Nope. He’s gonna be a big baby and go down kicking and screaming.

“Rigged.”  Drink!

Oh no, and the Emmy’s were rigged too? What is the world coming to?

His TV show should have won that Emmy.

Oh lawd – I need a drink. Oliver is biting my foot. Little asshole.

10:15 p.m. Martini #3.

Hillz: Donald Trump was for the invasion of Iraq.

Donald: Wrong!  Wrong. Drink!

Hillz: Something, something, something.

Oh yeah? Well, John Podesta said some horrible things about you.  AND Bernie says you have bad judgement.

Uh oh, Aleppo.

Trump has the little flag on his lapel. Is that a Republican thing? Hillz doesn’t have one. She’s doing the eye-flashing thing while he talks.

Trump is like the politics whisperer. Seriously, did they sedate him?

Nevermind. He’s starting to talk LOUD.

I love the way his lips form a perfect “O” when he says, “Wrong!” I need to practice that. I already tried the shoulder-shake thing last week at work. Somebody took it the wrong way.

Todd just walked in, looking for eats. Good luck with that. I lost my appetite at #unshackled.

What did Trump just say? I wanted to write it down. Too late! This train is already off to the next station.

He wants to create tremendous jobs. What’s a tremendous job?

Oh, tremendous x 3!   Drink! Drink! DRINK!

He said sloppy. I’m feeling it.

Hillz is pointing out Donald’s shit now, like his $100k ad saying the government under Reagan sucked.

Repeal and replace Obamacare.

Donald: It has to go.

Well, that’s all the time we have, folks.  “Now it’s up to you.”

Yeah, thanks Chris.

No handshakes for the angry couple.

Cut!

** I missed the “nasty woman” comment, therefore it doesn’t appear here. But I heard about it. Classic. I wish I hadn’t missed it.

 **Disclaimer: I don’t use the upgraded service; therefore, you will see ads at the bottom of my posts (ads I don’t see because I’m not you). As it has come to my attention that certain ads may not align with my world views – I am compelled to add the following statement until further notice.

I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT SUPPORT DONALD TRUMP. NOT YESTERDAY, NOT TODAY, NOT – EVER.

What Not To Do, and Other Things

Do not forget your glasses when you go to the grocery store. And especially during check-out, do not repeatedly press “no” when the POS asks you a question you can’t read. Especially if the question is, is the amount correct? – not, do you want cash back?

Do not mistakenly take someone else’s shopping cart when you leave the deli counter. (A sincere sorry to the customers who were forced to start over.)

Do not go to another high school’s football field and start a fight with parents of the home team.

Do not ever, never ever, put your head inside your 15-year-old’s hamper to reach the dirty clothes at the bottom.

Do not execute a left turn into the school drop-off line when the school principal is crossing it at that very moment.

Do not make veiled accusations to your husband for the whereabouts of your anything, without thoroughly ruling out your own guilt.

Do not eat Skittles or other hard candies over the age of (conservatively speaking) 40. Unless you like having fillings replaced.

Do not leave the cap off of your liquid foundation, nor leave the open bottle too close to the edge of the counter, if you’re in a hurry.

Do not risk 12 years of amicable neighboring by discussing politics with your neighbor. Unless, of course, you know you’re on the same side of the proverbial fence.

And, on that note, Do not place Presidential candidate signs on your business property. Hello, commercial suicide.

Further, Do not steal your neighbor’s political signs. You will be arrested.

************************************

Other Things…

True story: Man steals his neighbor’s Trump signs from the front yard. He is arrested and has to go to court. The neighbor offered to drop the charges if the man would wear a Trump t-shirt and stand on a corner waving Trump signs. The man opted for the charges.

I saw a man in the restaurant recently who looked a lot like Bill Clinton. I wonder if anyone has ever told him that? Given the present political climate, I wondered if he’d be insulted. Then I thought, what if he’s a Republican? It would really suck to be a Republican and be Bill Clinton’s doppelganger. Especially right now.

The middle school almost burned down on Thursday and thank God it was only some faulty motor thingy connected to one of the building’s air handlers. Actually, there was no fire, just a weird smell that prompted our new principal to call 911 just moments before the busses carrying students arrived. Three firetrucks and an ambulance. We were allowed to pull into the drop off line, where I sat for 25 minutes waiting for the fire department to declare the building safe and praying this wasn’t going to end badly.

One of the Amish farms along the route north to my ex’s house has Trump signs posted on their property. It never occurred to me that the Amish would vote in a presidential election. They shun television and (I assume) the internet, but I suppose they read the papers. Still – how is it that they come to support Donald Trump?

And then, is it possible to make a better decision for president without the noise of television, radio, and social media? What if none of these mediums were available to us, and we only had print? Or word of mouth? Or public appearances? Was there any less drama in colonial days?

 

**Disclaimer: I don’t use the upgraded service; therefore, you will see ads at the bottom of my posts (ads I don’t see because I’m not you). As it has come to my attention that certain ads may not align with my world views – I am compelled to add the following statement until further notice.

I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT SUPPORT DONALD TRUMP. NOT YESTERDAY, NOT TODAY, NOT – EVER.

The Missing

What is it with things going missing?

I just found a pair of scissors in the pocket on the back of the passenger seat in my car that I’ve been looking for, for nearly 3 months. Nobody knows how they got there.

I always find a sock or two wrapped up in the fitted sheets when I’m changing the bed linens.

Currently, I’m on the hunt for a can of black shoe polish, my nail clippers, and a white bra. My Prince poster is still MIA. Seriously.

I am very hesitant to point any fingers, but. Some people who live here are notorious for using stuff and leaving it right where they were using it. That can be good, and that can be bad. Me personally? I’m notorious for putting stuff in places so it doesn’t get lost, and then I can’t find it.

Last weekend I pulled the nearly full bag out of the vacuum cleaner to dissect it with a knife and a pair of surgical gloves because I had lost, and was certain I accidentally sucked up, my diamond earring. It was the highlight of my day. Nephtoo was here that day watching me sneeze and snivel through gobs of cat hair, dust, crumbs of dog food, and one very large dried up black spider. He said that this was nothing compared to sifting through cafeteria trash to retrieve a retainer and since I’ve never had the pleasure, I’ll take his word for it.

I didn’t find the earring, but I did find a screw and one of Veruca’s socks. I kinda remember that day. I’ve gotten to the point in vacuuming where if I hear a peculiar sound, oh well.

Veruca has lost shit in her room that is positively maddening. Most of the time her room looks like her closet threw up all over it. She lost her deodorant a few days ago, and so asked to borrow mine. Then I took a shower that morning and realized she hadn’t returned it. I went into her room and I couldn’t find it. I started ripping her bed apart and thankfully I found it mixed in with the pile of clean clothes lying on top of it, which is a good thing because I was trying to decide whether to put on Opac’s girls-will-throw-themselves-at-you Axe, or take my chances with body odor.

Speaking of Opac, HIS room looks like an episode of Hoarders and I cannot believe he doesn’t lose things regularly and/or have rodents living under his bed. Last night I laid down the law. He has two days to clean that shit up or he’s not going to a party on Saturday. And for all of that, he has his own pair of nail clippers and he never loses them.

Meanwhile, mine are missing and once again – nobody knows where they are. The shoe polish eludes me. My boots need polishing and right now I’m making do with tap water and a paper towel. Todd says he “remembers” seeing it somewhere, but he “can’t remember” where. Do you have any idea how maddening this is??? That and my best white bra cannot be found. Where TF is it? It’s not like anyone else in the house would use it.

And, I lost my mascara last Friday. I used it in the morning, and never saw it again.

I know how this sounds. I’m not crazy, and our house is not messy. Generally speaking. It’s lived in, but we don’t have to wade through piles of crap to get to the sofa, or climb into bed (well, except for the younger set). I require order to keep sane, and so – while it may not be entirely dust free – things are put away.

Veruca did clean up her room last night, and found her deodorant and a bunch of mismatched socks. But, she’s now missing a favorite sweatshirt.

Hey – people lose stuff. My absentminded professor husband loses stuff constantly. People lose their keys, cell phone, or a $20 bill. A friend of mine thought she lost a tampon in her vagina and went to the ER in a panic. Imagine having to explain that bill to mom and dad.

For those worried about the diamond earring – I found it upon a closer inspection of my jewelry box.

My mission today is to find that bra. Saying the St. Anthony’s prayer this time…

 

**Disclaimer: I don’t use the upgraded service; therefore, you will see ads at the bottom of my posts (ads I don’t see because I’m not you). As it has come to my attention that certain ads may not align with my world views – I am compelled to add the following statement until further notice.

I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT SUPPORT DONALD TRUMP. NOT YESTERDAY, NOT TODAY, NOT – EVER.

I Think I’m High Again

My gynecologist offers Botox now. Because everyone knows that vaginal exams and Botox injections go hand-in-hand. I’m assuming they mean Botox for foreheads, not Botox for vaginas. They don’t give Botox in vaginas. Do they? Because who would want that?

Still, I’m wondering where along the way in gynecology some doctor said, you know – I AM licensed to rake cervixes with little tiny instruments, catch babies, and perform hysterectomies, so… Maybe I should start offering Botox.

By the way, this didn’t keep me up last night. The lone fly in a 3,000-square-foot house did. Because one fly in a house always ends up in the bedroom when I’m trying to sleep. Except that it really didn’t, because I was already awake – testing relentless blood sugars.

I’m on drugs now, so mostly I’m sleeping better – thanks for asking. Not Botox. And not because I don’t want Botox, because if I had the guts and $2,000, I can assure you I’d have 3 less craters in my forehead. But I’m not vain. All the time.

I was going to say no to drugs, like Nancy Reagan made me promise when I was 12, but apparently I’m a better person on drugs. Less stabby. More happy.

These last several weeks of clean living were littered with other methods of coping, like wine, vodka, meltdowns, chest pains, and copious amounts of junk food. Once the Paxil finally melted out of my system, Medusa moved in, and it was dark and dangerous road for travelers. And that was just when I was alone.

Anyway, on a serious note, medication – not drugs – softens the edges of life. Contrary to what I write most of the time, I’m not a fan of medicating. I’ve even been known to suffer a headache rather than take ibuprofen. This time, however, I recognized a very basic and primal need to feel normal and not like I want to destroy walls and furniture. There’s bad moods, and then there’s Falling Down.

And speaking of falling down, I had a roommate in college who took Prozac. She was certifiable, but today it’s known as bipolar. When she took her meds, she was ordered and pleasant, but that went out the window when alcohol was added to the equation. She got us thrown out of the Violet Ball because she kept falling down on the dancefloor; the final straw was pulling her strapless gown down and exposing her breasts. When she “forgot” to take her meds, it was time to lock your doors and evacuate the vicinity. These memories are probably the primary reason I don’t really want to need medication.

Meanwhile, back in the parent drop-off lane…. the middle school has recently moved this lane to the rear of the building. I decided to drive Veruca on “inauguration day” – so that I’d learn the new system on the same day as everyone else. I’ve never seen so many cars in a drop-off. Ever.

There were teachers blocking the old drop-off line, holding up signs directing us to the rear driveway – which, by the way, is really a ONE-LANE driveway that now has to accommodate incoming and outgoing vehicles, a situation I am all too familiar with from cheer practice drop-off. The driveway opens up to a large square parking lot which is lined with cones so the morons know not to fuck up the system and a handful of teachers are standing around just in case they do anyway.

I said aloud to no one in particular (it’s not like Veruca cares anyway) as I watched the teachers standing around in the rain, I bet the teachers just love this. And the assistant principal was heading the front of the line, wildly waving his arms at cars like a runway signaler. The only thing he needed was one of those light wands. The whole thing struck me funny, and I was giggling to myself as I pulled away. I turned up the volume on the radio and Steve Winwood’s Back in the High Life was playing.

 

qk8ydc97s1ung

 

**Disclaimer: I don’t use the upgraded service; therefore, you will see ads at the bottom of my posts (ads I don’t see because I’m not you). As it has come to my attention that certain ads may not align with my world views – I am compelled to add the following statement until further notice.

I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT SUPPORT DONALD TRUMP. NOT YESTERDAY, NOT TODAY, NOT – EVER.